I hallowed your name
Adored you
With every breath
That escaped
from my lips
In the dawning glow
That reflected
On your burnished skin
As well as
in my paradisaic dreams
And cherished thoughts
Every day
Carefully aligned
The chords of my heart
To the sonorous melodies
That resonated
Somewhere from your core
Weaved an intimately
vital connection
From my soul
For my existence
With my trembling hands
Tirelessly knelt before
Your sparkling facade
Never once looked
Past its exquisite splendour
Asked nothing from you
Except for your undying affection
But all you did
Was bequeath me
An undying fear and suspicion
When you recklessly
And loconically
Made me realise
That i was
Relentlessly worshipping
A heartless demon
Instead of a deity
For such a dangerously
Long duration
With all of my strength

Your lover
shouldn't be
your God.

If love is a religion,
And you're the God
I'd probably be an atheist

If the things you say
Are holy gospels
I'd probably burn them to hell

You're on my mind again
Attending your company
Like mass' on sundays
But I'd rather be at home
Rather than to worship
Your hypocriteness
The things you do
Doesn't match the things you say
You've made oaths, vows, promises
But that's at least what I think
You broke every single one of them
And it's ****** up, it's ******* me up;
You split my heart
Like how moses split a river
Crossing it quietly
But when you crossed
You left an unholy mark
Making it bleed, making me hurt
I have no idea what I did to you
But next time I see you,
No more, I wont;
I wont worship you no more.

On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.

there is a part of me that
chases, clamors for, craves your touch
(soft, steady, gentle or far too much)
a stubborn/reckless fraction
of an imperfect whole;
yearning to cage the still uncaged,
to catch myself a lost angel.

but your heart is too fragile,
too precious and too complicated
(untarnished and unremonstrated)
and my grasping fingers, they
would leave smudges and stains
handprints upon a handkerchief
****** white in this world of ink.

you are not a blank canvas
that tempts one into leaving a mark
(writing my name, my love on your skin);
you are a finalised masterpiece,
every line perfection,
and to change, covet or chain you
would be the highest blasphemy.